Azkaban
by Ten Story
Summary: Sirius's side of the story as he escapes Azkaban. slight Alternate universe, very mild slash, SiriusRemus.
1. Chapter 1

Sirius looked up. He smelled them before he even felt their presence.

The Dementors were coming to serve dinner.

It never failed. They always came at exactly the same time every evening, with a plate of disgusting, soggy gruel that he knew if he didn't eat, he would not survive.

The other prisoners began to moan and groan in pain as they came closer, but not Sirius. He simply took deep, long breaths, and concentrated as hard as he could on one thing: Remus.

The chilled wind began to bellow through the hallway. The tiny window that was at the very top of his cell offered a distinctly foul smell, which meant the tide was high and lapping against the bottom of the rocks beneath it. From what he could tell, he was on the Western side, because sometimes he could hear the water hitting the side of the boats as they carried prisoners to the main gate, which he knew was on the west side. He had time to think about these things.

That awful, cold, sinking feeling that accompanied the Dementors flooded the hallway and soon a plate of sloppy goo was thrown in front of him, along with a package.

Wait…a package?

Who could it possibly be from? Why would they send him something? And what is it? Sirius frantically lunged at the box before any of the other prisoners saw it, in case they tried to steal it in hopes of fresh food. Crawling back into the corner of his cell, he examined the package very, very carefully, turning it over and over in his hands. He sniffed it. It had no smell except for the brown package paper scent…as well as a hint of laundry detergent. It made no rattling sound when he shook it. It also had no return address. In fact, the only writing on it was his own name, spelled out in beautiful script.

He decided to hide it under the hay and eat his dinner first. This was a very special occasion and must be savored properly. After all, it had been two years since anything out of the ordinary had happened in the daily routine of his life in Azkaban. It had been two years since he had been taken here…and left here to die. Even by Remus.

Slowly eating so as not to make himself sick from the malnutrition he suffered from, he set the dish in the hallway after he was done and settled down in the hay with his package, putting it in his lap. Gently he untied the delicate string, wrapping it around a stick so it wouldn't get tangled and placing it behind a loose cement stone next to the bed where he kept all his little treasures, such as paper clips, coins, and whatnot. Then he went on to the paper, making sure not to rip even the smallest corner. After folding it and placing it behind the loose stone, he finally unwrapped a few pieces of tissue paper that were wrapped around the very pliable object.

And then, sitting in his lap, was a quilt.

It was a beautiful quilt- no mistake about that. Gorgeous dark colors, patch-worked into diamond designs, layered very thickly inside with feathered down. Warm, clean, hand-stitched, most likely…it was a dream come true.

Sirius wondered to himself. Perhaps this thing had some spell on it that would kill him in his sleep. Maybe it was saturated with poison so he would die slowly and painfully while he kept it in his cell. He didn't have a friend in the world-- nothing but enemies, and last time he checked, enemies didn't send you beautiful hand-made quilts.

It came with no note- no trace of where it had come from. But after feeling its comfort between his fingers he decided that even if it was sent by someone who wanted to kill him, he would die warm, at least.

The blanket was too nice not to use.

With nothing else to do for the day, he settled himself down in his bed of hay, making a sort of sleeping bag out of the blanket to wrap around him during the night. Before he closed his eyes, however, he caught a glimpse of the underside of a corner the quilt that was the closest to his neck. In small tiny letters, a stitched-inscription read:

"You are not alone in the world."

Fascinated by the message but too tired to keep his eyes open and think on it longer, Sirius drifted off to sleep, but for once, he slept with a smile on his face.

Eight years passed.

It was January first. The New Year had begun. Though you would never be able to guess it in Azkaban. The days ran together for those that did not dedicate many long hours to tracking them as Sirius did. He scratched letters and numbers onto the walls frantically, occasionally pausing to scratch his scalp and sit cross-legged staring at the writing. Tiny origami sail boats made out of ancient, overly-creased brown package paper were lined up carefully across the floor. Ripped tissue paper were formed into little paper lanterns that hung from the ceiling from bits of package string. And then that awful groaning and screaming came from the other prisoners. It was dinner time once again.

Sirius crawled on his hands and knees to the bars and tried to crane his neck out to get a good look at how far down the Dementors were in the hallway. Not too far. Good. He had time to finish calculating what day of the week the next new years day was going to fall on….

He heard the plate of mush drop on the floor behind him, but, amazingly enough, another small thud accompanied it. He sharply turned, feeling his black hair flip around his neck and smack into his mouth a little, and was of course surprised to spot yet another package.

He was again confused. Surely, he thought, that packages would be confiscated and searched in a prison like this. Surely the contents was probably not even given to the prisoners. But the package, just like the one he had received long ago, had not been tampered with, and he had been allowed to have it. Just as he had done before, he snatched it and hid it under the hay, waiting until after dinner to open it.

As careful as always, Sirius removed the packaging and found a strange plastic container filled with ham and potatoes. Could he possibly be dreaming this? There was no way this was happening!

A small note accompanied the food. It read, "Soon." And that was all.

Hungrily, Sirius wasted no time in devouring the food , not only because he was greedy, but so that the smell would not saturate his cell and the other prisoners would start questioning him. There was a man in the cell next to him that he handed a piece of the ham, as he knew the man was already mad and starving himself to death. At least, Sirius thought, he should have some ham before he died.

"Hey…" Sirius said hoarsely. He hadn't used his voice in at least a year and a half. He had stopped talking to himself ages ago. It hadn't helped anyway. "Here…h-have some of this…"

His skinny hand offered the ham through the bars of the man's cell. After a long moment of silence, he felt the man gingerly take the meat out of his palm. An hour later, he heard a small voice say, "Thank you."

That man was dead the next morning.

Every month following Sirius received another package. No one was suspicious. No one asked to see what was inside them. This concerned Sirius greatly, but he tried not to think about it too much. In every package there was always a greater amount of food than there was last time and another encouraging note. And occasionally, much to his delight, there was a newspaper clipping about one of the only people left in the world that meant anything at all to him…Harry Potter.

"The Boy Who Lived joins Hogwarts Ranks." one was titled.

"Harry Potter exceeding under Dumbledore." said another.

"Youngest seeker in a century: Harry Potter."

"Potter saves the day at Hogwarts; Chamber of Secrets closed forever."

And instead of hiding these in his little cubby hole, he used the bits of package string to hang them all around the walls of the cell. Every time he looked that them tears nearly pricked at his eyes.

On Christmas he received an entire half of a turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sauce. The Cranberry sauce wasn't perishable, so he hid it carefully and nibbled at it over several days. Another two years went by like this, until one morning Sirius woke up from a nightmare in a cold sweat, wrapped tightly as always in his thick blanket, which now had chew-holes in it. Occasionally in his sleep his body would naturally turn into his alternate form, and Padfoot loved to chew things while he slept. He'd often mull over the chew marks and curse at himself for them.

As Sirius placed himself back in his cell from the nightmare, he began to relive the horrible moments he had been forced to see in his dream that had made him awaken-- those horrible moments when he had been arrested and taken away to the Ministry of Magic, awaiting the non-existent trial.

Not knowing where else to go, Sirius had gone to Remus' house. By then it was all over the radio and every single Ministry employee was looking for him. Sirius had given his motorcycle to Hagrid, so he ran all the way to Remus as fast as his legs could carry him. He knew if he apparated the Ministry would track it. He knew if he cast any sort of spell the Ministry would track it. He had to get to Remus and fast.

He spoke the password to the door and it opened for him. Panting and frantic, Sirius ran inside, only to find Remus standing directly in front of him, blocking him from coming any further in the house.

The radio was on, and his name was blasting out of it, shouting fire and brimstone and something about Voldemort. They were also talking about Lily and James. There were tears staining Remus' cheeks, but his face was as hard and stern as a rock.

Bending down with his hands on his thighs, bracing himself in his exhaustion, Sirius panted, "Rem…didn't know…where else to go…Lily…James…Peter was the secret keeper!"

Remus remained perfectly still and silent. His eyes were bloodshot; his nose and cheeks were bright red. He only stared at Sirius, full of something that looked to Sirius like a mixture of hatred and heartbreak.

"We changed it…last minute…please, Rem, you have to believe me! Rem!" Sirius shouted as he began to catch his breath. He grabbed Remus' shoulders and shook him desperately. Remus continued to remain as still as he could.

"You don't think that I would do that? Rem? Rem? Oh, no, no no No NO!"

Both of them began to cry, Sirius moaning and screaming while Remus still was silent. His wand was in his left hand.

Shocked…horrified, Sirius saw the tiny red sparks coming out of its tip. He knew what it meant.

"You called them here…didn't you…you knew this is where I would come…"

He heard the commotion outside. The Ministry had just landed their brooms. They were storming towards the house.

"I never want to see you again." Remus said.

Sirius stared wide-eyed at Remus, slowly letting go of him. In that moment the world seemed to shatter, and before he could even think to run two Aurors jumped on him and wrestled him to the ground.

"NO! NO! NO! REMUS! MOONY! LISTEN TO ME! I- AM -NOT -A -MURDERER!"

"That's enough there, you come quietly with us. Lupin, the Ministry thanks you for your cooperation. Heh, guess that no matter how nice they seem, once a Black, always a Black." he heard one of the men holding him say as he stared at Remus and felt his heart breaking. He was about to give up until the Ministry worker had said that stab about his family. Remus may hate him but he knew what he was…and he would have to prove it.

Struggling with all his might, Sirius managed to throw them off and he ran for his life. He heard spells missing and hitting trees and things so very close to him, but he dared not look back. He ran and he hid in the forests, crying himself to sleep. And when he woke up the next morning, he thought to himself for a very long time. There was only one way out of this. He would have to find Peter. Before the Aurors found himself.

Running through the streets, he found Peter just in the place he had expected to find him; in front of Lily and James' house. There were muggles gathered around the ruins of the house. There were even a few wizards wearing muggle clothing, surveying the devastation.

Peter was giving quite a show. He was kneeling and crying over the burnt and crumpled photo albums that lay in the rubble. Slowly Sirius came towards him.

Peter beat him to it. "You killed them! How could you do that? You gave them up to The Dark Lord!"

"SHUT UP! You bastard!" Sirius screamed. "I am going to kill you, you traitor! I am going to obliterate you, till there is nothing left of you!"

"Lily and James are dead! And its ALL YOUR FAULT!"

Both men drew out their wands and a giant explosion ensued. When the smoke had cleared, Peter was gone, and there was over a dozen dead bodies lying in the street.

Sirius laughed. He laughed so hard he began to scream.

After Sirius had had a few hours to calm down from his nightmare, a very unexpected visitor came to call on him. None other than Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic.

He heard the footsteps down the hall. "So who's in his wing, Mortimer?" Fudge bellowed.

"Some of our more dangerous criminals, Minister." the man answered. "Only a scarce few are kept here for security reasons."

"List of names, please?"

"Edwina Hutchison, Torrel Gutter, and, uh, lessee, lessee lessee…no, he died last week, he died this morning…looks like we've only got those two and Sirius Black right now, sir."

"Dear lord, Sirius Black? He's still alive?"

"Yessir. We haven't heard him say a word in years, but he's in cell 82, if you care to see him, sir. As far as I reckon, he's the only one out of the three that's competent still. Been getting packages every month for a while…"

"I daresay from whom?"

"Not sure, sir. We're under strict orders from the Auror division not to ask."

"I see. Well I'll trust them to handle it."

Fudge walked down the hall towards Sirius' cell. Still buried in the darkness, Sirius looked up at the silhouette of the Minister and coughed, "Here for sightseeing, Minister?"

"Black? Ah yes, this is cell 82.…" --Fudge glanced down at his clipboard-- "No Black, here on a routine check-up on the prison. Got to do it every five years, you know…keeps the public from getting restless, and making sure the Ministry doesn't let this place go to the dogs."

Sirius laughed inwardly.

"Won't you have a seat, Minister? I'd appreciate a little chit chat, if you don't mind. It's been a while since I've conversed with a sane person."

"Ahhhh…well…uhhh…" Fudge stuttered. He looked around. "Well, I suppose it wouldn't harm anything. And I do have several hours to 'kill,' so to speak, before I get to go back to the Ministry. Less work for me, the better, I say…"

The last sentence he muttered to himself as he pulled up a chair from the hall and sat in front of the bars.

"Mortimer, cup of tea, if you please. Six sugar lumps, no milk."

"Yes, of course, Minister."

Mortimer left them and Fudge crossed his legs in the chair, glancing once again over the clipboard.

"So what, this is your…"

"Eleventh year, Minister." Sirius finished the sentence for him. "It'll be my twelfth next month. I came here on Wednesday, August seventeenth at 9:38 pm; one month, sixteen days and eight hours after Harry Potter's first birthday. Would you like to know the minutes and seconds as well?"

"Uh, no…that won't be necessary, thank you." Fudge said with a distained look.

"Here's a fun fact for you, Minister: Its been over one million minutes since Harry arrived at Hogwarts."

Fudge nervously glanced at the newspaper clippings on Sirius's wall as he listened to him. "You're a little overly-focused on Harry Potter, aren't you, Black?"

Sirius didn't reply.

"Yes, well…I daresay I almost envy you, Black. This place being so peaceful and quiet…and me always being bombarded by questions and noise and more questions…if it weren't for the Dementors, I'd almost call this place paradise. Wouldn't you agree?" Fudge said and laughed. Sirius obviously did not share in his amusement, but attempted a black-toothed grin all the same to be accommodating. After all, he might find out some interesting news if he played his cards right.

Mortimer brought in the Minister's cup of tea and quickly excused himself. The Minister thanked him heartily and took a long whiff of the steaming liquid. "Ah yes, that hit's the old spot…" he exclaimed as he took a sip.

"So Minister, what're the goings-on in the wide, wide world these days? Any giants run around in muggle London this week? Graphorns impaling helpless bystanders?" Sirius asks nonchalantly.

"Oh Heavens no, nothing at all exciting like that, Black. Only thing exciting enough worth mentioning is the playoffs for the Quidditch World cup are starting up next month. See here, there's an article in today's Daily Prophet about it, take a gander…"

Fudge retrieved a folded copy of the Daily Prophet that had been squished under his arm for probably at least a few hours. Careful not to seem greedy, Sirius gingerly took the paper from the Minister's hand and unfolded it so he could take an unhindered look at the front page.

And then it hit him like lightning.

"Its on page three, I believe. Some Bulgarian idiot's accusing Ireland of using jinxed balls in tryouts…nothing unusual really…and that reminds me--"

Fudge went on ranting about Quidditch while Sirius simply stared at the front page.

"Ministry of Magic employee scoops grand prize." it exclaimed as its headline. And there was a picture of Arthur Weasley-- he remembered him vaguely-- and his family posing in some ridiculous muggle garb in front of a pyramid…but that's not what had grabbed his attention…

He'd found him…he'd finally found him…and he hadn't even had to look…

"…of the time Ireland actually _did _use jinxed balls! Can you believe it? Say now, didn't you used to play Quidditch? ….Black? Black? I daresay, Black are you even there?"

"Y-yes, Minister. I was listening. Ireland. Jinxed balls. Yessir."

"Well then didn't you used to play Quidditch?"

"…Minister, would you be so kind as to let me have this paper?"

"Well I suppose; I have finished reading it…"

"Thank you very much. I am in your debt. This has been a lovely chat- I have thoroughly enjoyed it and hope to see you back soon. Thanks again for coming-- OH MORTIMER!"

Gingerly the man opened the hallway door and curiously peered inwards.

"Minister…?" he asked.

"Minister Fudge was just leaving. He's been so kind having a nice talk with a lowly prisoner such as myself; I'll never forget your kindness sir, a truly wise and strong leader; may I shake your hand? Thank you so much- I'll never wash it again. Buh-bye now! Have a nice day!"

Leaving Fudge stuttering and practically being lead out the door by Mortimer with tea-cup still nearly full, Sirius crouched down into the dark after shaking his hand and waited until he heard the coveted sound of the hallway door slamming. Nearly so excited that he ripped the paper in half, carefully as he could with his hands shaking so violently like that he read the article over and over again, staring at the picture and then back at the words.

"Arthur Weasely, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office at the Ministry of Magic, has won the annual Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon draw. A delighted Mr. Weasely told the Daily Prophet, 'We will be spending the gold on a summer holiday in Egypt, where our eldest son, Bill, works as a curse breaker for Gringotts Wizarding Bank.' The Weasely family will be spending a month in Egypt, returning for the start of the new school year at Hogwarts, which five of the Weasely children currently attend."

_You know what this means, don't you? _Sirius asked himself.

_Yes…._

"He's at Hogwarts… he's at Hogwarts…."


	2. Chapter 2

For days upon days that became Sirius' new mantra. He couldn't say or think anything else. And all he knew was that he had to escape-- absolutely had to, and kill the man that had destroyed his life and killed two of his best friends, who had meant more to him than life itself. He had had no hope for so long- he had thought Peter was dead and there was no one left alive that knew the truth; that Sirius had bailed out at the last second to be James and Lily's secret keeper…therefore there was no hope of clearing his name. It had been the perfect frame. He had been the perfect fall guy. One simple mistake to trust another human being had killed nearly everything that was dear to him.

But he was alive…there was no hope in clearing his name- the minute he even got near a Dementor if he escaped, even if he had a witness with him, would certainly mean his death-- so the only thought, the only dream was to kill him. Slowly, and painfully, with every unforgivable curse there was, and finally be convicted for something he had actually done. It didn't matter what happened to him now. Vengeance was the only real truth in the world, and justice would be served. It was fate that this happened, he repeated to himself with a psychotic grin. And fate has made me its angel of death.

He would laugh - a horrible, mad laugh that frightened the other prisoners and the human guards. In fact they were so frightened they sent back for the Minister and they all watched him in his sleep as he chanted "He's at Hogwarts…" over and over and over again.

The monthly package came on time, but Sirius almost didn't have the mind to open it. It sat there for a day or two, until he finally did open it in his dazed state, ate the small piece of chocolate cake inside and read the very strange note.

"Don't eat anything else from now on until you're small enough as Padfoot to slip through the bars. The dementors won't sense you-- with your life force so weak both from your dog form and eating so little, they will most likely ignore your presence altogether. Leave in the early evening as soon as you can fit through the bars. Follow the moon to the shore and due east until you reach a crossroads. The road sign will say 'Devinshire, 2 miles north.' Head north till you reach Devinshire. In the middle of the town there is a small café with a porch. Turn right and go down the street. I will be waiting for you in the shadows. I have rented a small home there where you can recover your strength. They will expect you to go directly to Hogwarts, which means you will be safe with me until you are ready to travel again.

"And for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

It took him two weeks to starve himself to a point where he could get his head through the bars. He knew the rest of him would come easy after that. He tried to make Padfoot even more scarce than he usually did, only going into dog form when it was within his natural sleeping schedule. The day finally came where he felt rested enough to make the long swim and run-- he had slept all night and nearly all day. It was nearly four o'clock when he awoke from his dream-- a dream involving strangling Peter slowly as he tied him over a large bonfire…

With a start he woke up, very much alarmed, wondering if he had slept through the next night as well. After all, his stress level was very high as he was now on a tight schedule- something he hadn't been on in twelve years. Much to his relief there was only one plate of rotting gruel on his floor that smelled nearly a day old, which meant it wasn't dinner time again. In his alarm he had forgotten his body pain, but it suddenly came rushing back to him, and he groaned softly. Sitting up in bed, clenching his blanket, he soon collapsed against the wall and listened to his own heavy breathing for a while. He couldn't do anything else.

But this was the night. No matter what he was feeling. If he didn't go now, another day or two and he'd probably starve to death…

Even that rotting plate of gruel on the floor looked appetizing to him. Even his hand looked appetizing. During the weeks he had allowed Padfoot to chew a little on the hay around the cell, but it was such a painful thing not to eat it. Such hunger he had never experience before, even in the attempts to kill himself over the years until he finally gave in to eating again, as most of the prisoners did at some point in their sentence. But this time he just kept dreaming about this mystery person and drooling over all the delicious food he or she might have waiting for him…

There was only one thing in the world that made him trust this person, and that was the fact that they knew about Padfoot. That untold secret was only known by marauders; it was a magic blood pact that they all made that their lips would be sealed to anyone else. Sirius had no idea how exactly this person knew, but they must go way back with one of the marauders to know. Even before the blood pact. Or maybe…even a Marauder. And not Peter, because Peter wouldn't risk his safety for such a thing.

No. That was a ridiculous idea. Don't get your hopes up for nothing…

It had occurred to him that it might actually be a friend of Peter's, trying to lure him away from killing him. Or worse, try and kill Sirius after gaining his trust. But right now this person was his only contact in the outside world, and he wouldn't be able to make it on his own. Just thinking about swimming all that way and then running for miles and miles made him feel as if he were going to faint.

It took hours upon hours upon practically forever for the sun to set. Sirius just sat there, waiting, chewing the horrid, crusted-with-blood roots on his fingers where nails used to be. When it was finally dinner time and the dementors took the old plate away and set down the new, he was careful and emptied the contents into his little cement cubby hole. Then as the moon rose, he pocketed his newspaper clippings of Harry, the copy of the daily prophet with Peter in it, folded up his blanket, and took one last look at the tiny place he had lived for so long.

He stared at the moonlight for a long time, as it always made him think of Remus. He tried not to remember those memories he had of their last moments together-- he knew that Remus wouldn't want him to. He would want him to think of the good times. If Remus still cared at all, that is.

Now, quit it. You're getting your hopes up again…

Then he looked carefully at all the writings he had made on the wall, including his large message that adorned the Southern wall:

"Sirius Black died in this cell. He was not guilty. Tell Remus Lupin that I love him."

In a way, the message was still true. But now it was time to clear his head-- even though he was feeling so sick and dizzy that he thought he would collapse any moment. He shook his head hard and as soon as there was snoring in the hallway, he transfigured into Padfoot and spent the next hour squeezing through the bars one body-part at time. Squeezing and squeezing and squeezing delicately, painstakingly. Taking frequent breaks because he was so exhausted and had such little energy to spend. But when he was finally free, he dragged the blanket behind him in his teeth and carefully made his way out of the familiar hallway.

Hugging the walls as best he could, cringing at the delicate sound of his feet clapping against the linoleum and the blanket dragging along behind him, he stepped into a much brighter area. It was obviously where the few humans who worked at Azkaban sat at their desks and twiddled their thumbs (they were kept very far away from the Dementors); there was only Mortimer, sitting in front of the radio, snoring loudly. He knew that the sounds he was making were too quiet for any human to hear, even an Auror, but a dementor would easily hear it and catch him escaping in an instant. He prayed as hard as he could to every God he could think of that he would be able to get out to the main courtyard.

Damn…an iron door, locked. Obviously it led out to the courtyard. Just as he was about to give up hope, he spotted a small vent to the side of the door near the floor, just big enough for Padfoot to crawl through. Sadly, the vent was screwed shut. He would need a screwdriver, or…

Looking very carefully around him, he transfigured back into himself and took the tip of his shoelace in his hand. Using it, he picked at the phillips-headed screw in the vent grating until it slowly began to turn. Happily he grabbed it with his fingers and twisted it as fast as he could; still terrified somewhere in his heart that the Dementors would soon find him and everything would be hopeless.

The vent was open. Quickly he transfigured back into Padfoot and crawled through the vent. The vent was so small that it was extremely difficult for him to drag the blanket along with him, but he refused to leave it behind.

The vent had several small grates, all circling about the bottom of the outside of the walls, facing the courtyard. He kept following it, watching at least a dozen dementors gliding around in the middle of the courtyard, listening, waiting. Waiting for him to make a mistake. He was shaking all over.

As he passed one grate he realized suddenly that it had been a very large mistake to turn into a man, just for that short time. One Dementor had sense his presence and was coming out of the building and into the courtyard to warn the others that something wasn't right. They all spread out immediately and began their intensive search. Sirius decided it would be best if he simply sat tight for a while in the vent, waiting for things to calm down. It took an hour and a half of sitting there on his furry belly in the freezing cold for the Dementors to go back to their normal rounds, and he made a very careful mental note to himself to never, ever turn back into a man as long as he remained on the island or anywhere near it.

The vent, luckily, led just to where he needed to go- the boat dock. There was no one there- only one dementor, who was facing the opposite way. If he lucked out, perhaps he could hug the wall, dive into the water, and turn the corner fast enough so the Dementor wouldn't sense anything strange. It'd hear the splash, but most likely dismiss it as a fish if there were no strong, human-like presences around. It was risky, he had to admit-- but it was his only option.

Amazingly enough, and much to his relief, the screw in this grating was loose. He could turn it with his paw, and soon it popped right out and clinked upon the floor. He was sure the dementor heard it, but it did not turn, meaning it thought nothing of it. And then the moment came. This was it. Open the grating slowly and quietly…that's it…it squeaked a little but it still hasn't turned around…it still hasn't….don't let the vent slam shut, whatever you do!…that's it…lower it down with your tail…

The grating was closed. And Padfoot ran.

The tiny splash that the very light-weight dog made from its very short jump into the water made the dementor turn unnaturally fast to the water. But there was nothing there. It had probably been a fish.

Padfoot swam. He swam as hard as he could, nearly drowning from the weight of the blanket he still struggled carrying in his teeth. He felt the icy water like knives stabbing into him on all sides. He felt fish nipping at his fur and his hind legs, and he prayed very hard that no sharks saw or smelled him. And after what seemed like hours of desperately trying to keep his head above water and moving only a few inches every few minutes, the water became more shallow…and finally he collapsed on the shore, coughing and exhausted with the water-logged blanket next to him.

So hungry. So tired…

Padfoot rolled over on his belly and for the first time in years, he stared at the full, unhindered moon. The last time he had seen it he had been a free, yet hunted man, and he had thought of Remus. And now, once again a free man, yet hunted, he also thought of Remus.

Every single bit of his body hurt. He rolled over on his side and panted, wanting nothing more than to collapse and sleep…but he knew he couldn't. It took every ounce of resolve in him to pick himself up off the sand, now soaked to the bone and covered in muck and dirt. He headed towards the moon, just as his mystery person had told him to. Though he knew it was unwise, his body insisted on taking frequent breaks, especially with the heavy wet blanket having to be dragged along. He hid in the bushes, breathing so heavily that anyone on the main path could have heard him. He couldn't help it. He screamed at himself to stop but he just…couldn't.

Frequently as he walked his legs gave out from under him, his entire body collapsing into the mud. Then, a few minutes later, he'd inwardly scream at himself and he'd slowly get up, moving onward and onward to the crossroads he was looking for.

It must have been at least four or five hours before he reached it. The town, according to the sign, was only a mile away….only one more mile, and he'd be there…

It was the longest mile he had ever traveled. He saw general shapes of houses and lights, but did not recognize them. His eyes were hazing over; everything was so blurry…

The nausea came again. So lightheaded that he couldn't walk strait, Padfoot stumbled into the bushes and threw up some saliva, as that was all he had. He was frightened now-- he couldn't even see, let alone recognize a restaurant in the street. He began to lose all hope when he smelled the distinct smell of sweet, juicy steak. He turned to the right and ran down a dimly lit street. He was hyperventilating now…he was just about to collapse into the dirt…

A sweet, tender voice called out to him. He felt himself…being wrapped in a blanket-- being lifted into gentle arms.

"Oh my God…" the familiar voice whispered. "Hang on, just hang on, Sirius…I've got you…"

He wanted to say something to him. He couldn't even tell if he was a dog or a man-- so he tried to say something, but all that came out was raspy breaths. A blurry vision of the man with sandy brown hair appeared before his half lidded eyes - he shook his head at him and whispered again.

"Hush…go to sleep. Go to sleep now. You did a good job… now you're all done. Its time to let me take care of things now, so don't worry…don't worry anymore. Remus has got you."

"Rem…" Sirius whispered as he transfigured back into a man and collapsed into a haphazard hug with Remus. He kissed him and kissed him and cried as he said "I love you" over and over again.

Remus gave up trying to get Sirius to rest and smiled as he hugged him back.

"Its okay. I…love you too. And I'm…so sorry…"

"No…no. No more sorry. No more."

Remus nodded. "No more."


End file.
